


The Rite of Winter

by Halja



Category: Slavic Mythology & Folklore
Genre: Bondage, Cunnilingus, F/F, Hate Sex, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Bondage, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints, Seasonal Cycles, Threats of Violence, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 04:30:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17094068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halja/pseuds/Halja
Summary: It’s a game they play every time the sky turns and the stars change.





	The Rite of Winter

**Author's Note:**

> For the Annual Femslash Kink Meme 2018. Prompt: [Marzanna/Vesna, kidnapping + noncon](https://femslash-kink.dreamwidth.org/23893.html?thread=3626069)
> 
> Featuring Vesna as a singular goddess of spring, and Marzanna as a goddess of winter and death. And a bit of a Holly King/Oak King thing going on, if you can even call it that. Don't think too much about it.

 

 

«You won’t be able to keep me here forever.»

It’s true, but when Vesna struggles against her bonds, the ropes hold fast and her wrists chafe anyway. Marzanna digs her fingers – her ice-cold, bone-thin fingers with her needle-sharp nails – into her buttocks and presses her face harder between her splayed legs. Her cheek against her thigh is like frost on her skin, but her tongue burns, burns, burns over and between the folds of her flesh, and Vesna chokes on soft, unwilling moans.

It’s a game they play every time the sky turns and the stars change. That doesn’t mean it’s ever pleasant. Sometimes, they draw blood. Sometimes, they leave bruises like a victor’s marks, breaking skin and bones and piercing flesh. Other times, more rarely, they stoop as low as this.

«You won’t!» Vesna tries again, but her voice breaks and she hangs her head, face flushed. She shudders and pants, and struggles uselessly again. There will be red welts on her skin when this is all over, and that thought feeds the flame growing hot beneath her skin. «Let me go now,» she grits out, forcing her voice into calm and steadiness. «And I might have mercy on you, next time.»

Marzanna draws back enough to laugh against the flesh of her inner thigh, a sound as harsh and pale as the glare of winter sun. Then, she goes right back to ignoring her and starts to nibble at her skin. Nibble, and then bite down hard, when she tires of her new pastime.

Vesna wishes she could push her away, raise her to her feet and slap her across her face, hard enough to make her fall on her knees again. There’s a dark well of poison in the cavity of her chest, and now she can feel it riding up her throat, now she can taste the sharp tang of it on her tongue.

«Have it your way,» she hisses, as Marzanna teases the outside of her sex with her tongue before plunging back in.

Even the longest night must end, eventually. Light and heat will come back to the world, and the snow will thaw. The river will flow once more, free of the ice that bound it. The earth will come alive, rich and damp, and Vesna’s power will slowly grow as Marzanna’s dwindles.

«Have it your way, then.»

Winter may be hard and cruel. But Spring can be just as vicious, and twice as patient.

 

 


End file.
